


and love will not break your heart

by vanillarouge



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Coming of Age, Drama, Jealousy, Mentions of underage drinking, Multi, Polyamory, Sibling Incest, underage sexual situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 05:10:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillarouge/pseuds/vanillarouge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>growing pains, selfishness and good intentions, and everything that can go wrong will go wrong in the middle.</p><p>they fall in love in the suburbs, and nobody tells their story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and love will not break your heart

john dares dave to steal rose’s first kiss.  
  
they are six and it’s summer and there are no heavy implications behind the challenge, only childlike mischief and the naughty desire to embarrass his friend for nothing but his own amusement.

they sit under the shade of an old tree, over a comforter spread on damp, cool grass in the backyard, and john calls him a chicken in whispers right into his ear, a grin on his face that is as terrible as six year olds' tend to be.  
  
the girls are seaming flowers together to form four crowns for the four of them with clumsy plump fingers, the hem of their sundresses dirty green, a token of their hard work. the grass is tickling their legs like it wants to play a game with them, and it gets in their hair, in their clothes, in between their little toes.  
  
all it takes is a tug of rose’s long blonde tresses for dave to kiss her on the lips, wet and bold and short, because dave is most certainly not a chicken.  
  
rose tastes like raspberries and sunscreen, her lips cold like the popsicle she’s eating, and she hits dave so hard that his face is bruised for the next six days and john kills himself laughing.

;;

they are seven when someone sticks strawberry gum in rose’s hair.  
  
everyone notices but her —guilty glances are shared over colouring books and blocks of jenga— and there’s a heavy sort of silence in the room, the one meant for the moment after doors have been slammed in temper tantrums, the defiance stare in response to ‘no, no you can’t keep whatever it is that you’ve brought home this time.’

then she runs her fingers through her hair and they can swear it’s almost slow motion.  
  
rose makes them sit in her couch in eerie calm and stares them down for seconds minutes ages of silence, and everyone fidgets and looks at their feet because they’re seven and rose is the scariest kid they’ve ever met; scary like a ghost story, scary like a stormy night, and no one confesses.  
  
the next day rose’s hair is short and it curls up in every direction like it doesn't know gravity, and she doesn’t cry when everyone in school stares, she doesn't cry once.

;;

when they are eight, two things happen:

(1) the terrible third grade.

(2) jade and dave date.

jade is almost a head taller than dave is, but she draws frogs and flowers, tiny hearts with d+j in their centre on the covers of his notebooks, turns in assignments signed as jade strider.

they hold hands in the hallways and sit together in class, and sometimes dave plays with her hair when she falls asleep with her head resting on his shoulder. they climb trees and race to lemonade stands and build a wobbly fort, and he gives her bugs that he catches in the schoolyard as the truest proof of love.

(it’s not actually a very boyfriend-y thing to do, but dave is eight and when you’re eight not caring if a girl has the cooties must mean you’re in love.)  
  
“but i don’t think it’s going to work out,” jade tells him one day, her face dirty with mud. “our marriage and all that."

dave looks down with careful interest and inspects the colour bands around her long, spidery fingers. he always liked her fingers.

“we’re making rose and john sad.”

dave doesn’t understand, so he doesn’t say anything.

his bro taught him not to speak when he isn’t sure if he will sound stupid or not, so he lets go of jade’s hands and stays quiet so quiet. he never wants to sound stupid.

“i really  like-like you.” jade says, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “everyone likes-likes you."

dave shrugs and they break up and then they turn nine.

;;

"let’s make a pact,” john whispers, in the serious tone only ten year olds can adopt when they think they will say something transcendental.

dave nods solemnly.

he is sitting carefully on the branch of an oak tree, and john takes his hand when he offers his outstretched fingertips to help him up.

“girls are gross and we don’t need them," john mutters, his cheeks going red. “let’s be best bros forever.”

“a-alright,” says dave, staring at him through too-big sunglasses.

;;

dave and rose’s bro fights with their parents.

words are yelled, names are called, things are thrown to the floor and broken, and then he makes his bags and leaves the house for good.

when the worst is over, dave tip-toes out of his room, glances at the barely lit hallway; all the mirrors are scattered on the floor like remains of a  battle.

he stands by rose's door and considers claiming he's had a nightmare, but he left the shades their mother always complains about on his nightstand, and without his shades it’s always harder to find his voice when there’s a knot in his throat because he’s eleven and sometimes he stutters when he talks.

dave doesn’t think his face is any different than usual, but rose pulls her purple covers up in an invitation and then wraps them around them both, and in her mind she describes his eyes as pleading.

they used to share a single crib, when they were smaller, and plumper, and oblivious to the sound of china plates crashing to  the floor and voices distorted by disappointment and blame and anger.

he rests his face against the space between her neck and her shoulder, and rose holds him close and he cries and she cries and they cry themselves to sleep, cocooned in the safety of warm arms and gentle breathing, soft whispers of  _it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay_ , and they never speak about that night, ever again.

;;

two years later, john dirtily betrays dave and asks rose to be his girlfriend.

he’s always had a bit of a crush on her, on the fascinating way she tells horror stories and smiles like she knows all of your deepest, darkest secrets; how she knows exactly what to say and what to do to put dave in his place in eight seconds or less. he likes her in a _jesse’s girl_ sort of way, and john has never stopped to think about what this knowledge means.

she blinks a few times, like she never expected it, and then she smiles and kisses his cheek and says yes and they are twelve.

it’s cooler than third grade girlfriends because now john’s dad can drive them to that retro milkshake place downtown, now they’re allowed to walk to the movies all by themselves. john pretends to yawn and puts his arm around rose’s shoulders one night, and he’s so serious about it rose ends up laughing so hard that she chokes on her milkshake.

they are thirteen and it almost feels like love.

;;

“break her heart,” jade says over the phone, “and i’ll break your legs. and your kneecaps. and your fingers, knuckle by knuckle, until you’re crying and praying to every god you know and some you’ll make up that i finish your big, dumb sorry ass asap. hell, i’ll even break your eyebrows if i find a way to do it. and once you’re crying like a big, dumb baby i’ll make you write an apology letter in your blood, and once it’s send, you don’t want to know where i’ll use my grandpa’s nutcracker.”

john hangs up.

;;

the door to john’s room must be open at all times when rose is over, but his dad fell asleep an hour ago watching a james bond marathon downstairs, and they’re lying in his bed face to face.

their homework lies scattered on the bed around them, acting as a quick alibi, and rose smells like lavender and salt and nail polish, and john never knows what to do with himself, not when they’re this close and rose is looking up at him with eyes that do things to him no other eyes have ever done before.

rose asks in a small, sleepy voice, “why did you ask me to be your girlfriend?” and her breath crashes against his lips, overly sweet like those tiny lollipops she can’t stop eating.

“because i like-like you,” john says, and after a moment of uncertainty brings a hand up to gently brush a strand of hair off her face, because people do that in movies, and it somehow feels tender and romantic even his hands are still too soft, his nails bitten raw to the cuticle. “i’ve like-liked you for a lot. of time.”

“i see.”

“why,” john starts, carefully, because he’s thirteen and his voice breaks sometimes, especially when he’s nervous. “do you ask?”

rose rolls until she’s on her back. john stares at her darkly painted eyelashes, the tip of her nose, the curve of her forehead. he wonders why he hasn’t kissed her yet. “i always thought it was someone else you liked.”

“oh.” john says, honestly surprised. he can’t think of any other girl he could like the same way he likes rose. he frowns. “then why did you say yes?”

rose rolls her head to face him and their foreheads almost knock against each other.  “because i’m selfish,” she whispers, closing her eyes. rose looks small in her black button-up dress and yellow sweater, but she feels like she’s a million years older. “i wanted to get in the way.”

john touches her face with his fingertips and kisses her.

;;

dave says, “we weren’t nearly as godawfully annoying in the third grade, harley.”

they stand by jade’s locker a few feet from where john is struggling to carry both his and rose’s schoolbooks,  making no effort to help him whatsoever.

“i don’t know,” says jade. “you did propose. twice. with pop rings.”

“you named our kids.”

“megan, sam, maxwell, queen elizabeth the third, beyonce and dave jr.”

“that’s a fuckton of kids,” dave comments, making a face. “you always sucked at names.”

“you always sucked at playing house.”

“yo, wasn’t that the entire point in the first place?”

jade grins and elbows his ribs, and dave lets out an overly dramatic pained noise, bending in half as if he’d been seriously injured.

“my tender face was never ever the same again ever, you huge dork.”

“that is a thing that didn’t happen,” dave is quick to answer, feeling his face heat up. he is fourteen and he doesn’t stutter anymore but he’s always embarrassed when  people look him in the eyes, especially if he thinks they’re cute. “we don’t speak about that thing that never occurred.”

jade pretends to lock her mouth with a zipper and throw away the key.

;;

“what,” says dave, “the actual ever-loving fuck do you think you’re doing?”

john freezes halfway up the side of the strider-lalonde residence.

“help me,” john whispers, in the way that’s actually louder than talking in a normal tone of voice. “i’m trying to reach rose’s window.”

he is shaking his leg furiously, trying to dislodge his feet from the vine that he’s been trying to climb for the past half hour, his hands clutching rose’s window frame like a lifeline.

dave continues to look up at him with his hands shoved inside the pockets of his _back to the future_ pyjama pants.

it’s 11.28 p.m. and his shades are perched atop his face, and, as busy as john is trying not to fall a whole floor down and seriously injure himself, he still finds the need to roll his eyes at dave.

“why.”

“because it’s romantic, you ass.”

“how are you even out this late?”

“i live two streets from here, dave,” says john. “my dad sleeps like the dead.”

“rose is not allowed to have boys in her room past her bedtime,” dave starts, conversationally. “mom and dad are not home.”

“no shit, sherlock,” john whispers. he wiggles again, with no better results than the vine getting tighter and tighter around his shoe. then, a little desperately, “help me.”

“no,” dave says.

“no?”

“no.”

dave turns the garden hose on john and he walks back home soaked to the bones.

;;

every year on the four of july a big sort of reunion happens in jade’s backyard

 and all of their parents’ friends and neighbours are there, and they bring food and the air is still warm enough for shorts and t-shirts, and it’s kind of nice. the smell of grilled meat and gunpowder is barely perceptible but still pervading in the cool night breeze, faint music playing in the background accompanied by the sound of gossiping and chattering, and deep, good-natured laughing.

 they’ve wandered off to jade’s room to watch tv instead, because they’re fourteen and there’s only so much fresh air they can get before they’re bored.

they watch old reruns of _the creature from the black lagoon_ and _it came from beneath the sea_ ,  all sprawled on jade’s floor eating half-cooked burgers and leftover popcorn , and they keep shushing dave furiously every time he makes a dick joke until rose gags him with a snickers bar and john and jade slow clap.

 at some point dave and john take over the screen on their fourth sixth seventh round of super mario, and rose rolls her eyes, sits by the open window to watch the night sky.

there's a sudden explosion in the air, the first firework, _oohs_ and  _aahs_ from everyone in attendance and it paints the room a faint, blue, black, blue.

“i can’t see a thing,” rose says, frowning slightly. her blue and white striped dress makes her seem like she’s out of a movie from the 50’s, and it makes jade smile.

“let’s go outside,” jade suggests, turning to the darkened corner that her room seems to be when the only source of light is mario’s rainbow road. “you guys wanna come?”

there is some sort of grunting in response that they interpret as negative, so jade takes rose hand and leads her upstairs, to the roof of her house. it’s darker outside but the sudden outbursts of reds and blues and golden illuminate the night sky, fading at intervals to let a sprinkling of silver stars shine through, weakly, like they’re tired.

“it’s beautiful,” jade says. “the guys are missing out.”

but rose is busy looking at her instead, at the stars in her hair and the stars in her eyes. something in her chest aches.

“let them,” she replies, barely above a whisper. “they’re too dumb to see what’s right in front of them.”

and their fingers continue to be intertwined through the night, fragile and grounding, like a lifeline.

;;

rose is in john’s lap and they’re kissing and nobody’s home and they’re fourteen.

rose is warm so warm and she tastes like skin and lipgloss, and john’s never touched a girl like this, so hot and close and different. she breathes against his mouth and cups his face in her hands and he slides his hands up her legs and her sides, down her back, runs his fingers through her hair as gently as a boy with shaking hands and shaking knees can do.

rose’s hair is growing longer and it reaches her shoulders now, hides her face instead of framing it.

“hey,” john whispers against her cheek, pressing a kiss to her flushed skin. he pushes back a strand of hair from her face. “i liked it better when it was shorter.”

rose pulls away to look him in the eyes. she doesn’t look angry or anything, just surprised.

“do you mean,” rose starts, carefully. “when it looked like dave’s?”

;;

dave pokes his sister’s cheek in a lazily devised attempt to get her attention.

“what, you ginormous nuisance of a brother,” she mumbles, staring straight ahead, lying on her stomach with her face propped up in her hands. it almost sounds like a term of endearment.

“you’re weird,” dave says, taking the chair from her desk to sit on it backwards, all too nonchalantly. “weirder than the usual levels of weird that are cool and not  worrying in the lalonde weird-o-meter.”

rose rolls her eyes. “i’m thinking.”

“wow, yeah, someone call the press, this is breaking news—”

“about john.”

“oh,” says dave. he’s silent for a moment. “you gonna dump his sorry ass?”

rose frowns, turning to look at him. “what’s it to you?”

“nothing,” he replies, mirroring her frown. he was only trying to show his tender brotherly concern, and now, met with this kind of defensiveness, he feels irrationally attacked. he didn’t mean to jump to conclusions. “chill, dude, ’m just asking.”

“no, i will not dump his sorry ass,” rose replies. dave realizes somewhere along the way he stopped being able to tell whether his sister is calm or raging inside and pretending not to give a fuck. he realizes he doesn’t know what she wants to hear. “i was in fact thinking about our date. last friday. at his house.”

she sits up on her bed, looks down at her nails, smirks to herself. dave swallows. she is staring at him through her eyelashes like she’s planning his downfall and dave is damned if he doesn’t know that little mischievous grin, the one she uses to blackmail him with baby pictures and terrible childhood anecdotes.

“when we were alone. all alone with the lights turned low. in his couch. making out.”

dave stands up and leaves.

;;

here’s the thing about dave:

he’s started to notice things about john and he’s not entirely sure when it happened or how it happened or why it happened nor how to make it stop.

john slaps the back of his head and says, “earth to dave.”

“hmm?”

john grins and something inside dave’s stomach twists uncomfortably, like he’s filled with helium.

“what are you thinking about?”

(it’s the most ridiculous of insignificant details: the bones in his wrists, the small of his waist, the tendons in his neck, the little flash of his hipbones when he raises her arms and his jeans are hanging just a little too low; how he bites his lip when he’s nervous, how sounds in the phone when it’s two in the morning and dave is calling him because he can’t sleep, the way he runs his hands through his hair when he’s thinking, how he braces himself against the bathroom counter when he’s washing his teeth.)

dave raises an eyebrow. “how much i want to make-out with your dumb-toothed face.”

john snorts, rolls his eyes. “yeah, right.”

they’re fourteen years old and physical contact is something they dread and desire in equally conflicting levels.

;;

rose walks into dave’s room like there’s not a blatant _do not enter_ sign on his door.

“hey,” she says, because it’s not like she’s ever respected his privacy in the first place.

“come in,” dave mumbles from his place on the floor, shirtless and sweating. he’s never been the kind of person to make a show of working out, always too self-conscious to ever be seen giving half a fuck with a friend or at the gym. but his brother taught him to never let his guard down and that includes keeping in shape, so he does. he would never let his brother down. “make yourself comfortable. mi casa es tu casa. i literally like seriously don’t mind at all.”

rose lets herself melt into his mattress with not much more than a shrug, pressing her face into his pillows. they smell like old laundry detergent and familiarity, disappointingly similar to the ones back in her room.

dave gives up trying to do sit-ups and lays flat on his back, looks at rose looking at him from the edge of his bed, dishevelled and unreadable, and he thinks, _pretty_.

“hey,” he says again, softer. “to what do i owe the extreme pleasure of this surprising visit?”

rose cracks a smirk and takes her time to reply, and they don’t avert their gazes, not once, carefully inspecting each other.

“do you ever miss him?” she asks after a while, her voice small.

 neither of them need to clarify who is _him_ , too aware that saying their brother’s name aloud will make the ache all the more real.

dave shrugs. he puts his hands behind his neck and stares at the ceiling, absentmindedly running his fingers through his hair. it’s sweaty and dirty and it sticks up in every direction, shouldn’t look as attractive as it does.

“do you?”

“sometimes,” rose says. “he always knew what to do and what to say. he always had a backup plan, a course of action. i miss that. i miss his unwavering certainty.”

“you’re a lot like him,” dave says, quietly, like maybe she won’t like what he’s saying. he searches rose’s face for something, anything, and it hits him again; the knowledge that he’s forgotten how to read her. “smart and headstrong.”

“maybe,” rose mutters. “but he always liked you best.”

dave shrugs again, his gaze lost somewhere in the space before him. “it’s not like it fucking matters now, anyway.”

sitting up to look at her brother, rose observes, “he’s not dead,” in that matter-of-factly way she has that rubs dave all the wrong ways. “just living across the  country.”

“same difference.”

rose smiles softly, looking down. “i remember when he was teaching you to strife and i’d have to patch you up before mom and dad got here, so they wouldn’t find out.” dave can’t help but grin too, at the memory. “and then he’d let us both eat ice-cream so we wouldn’t tell.”

“smooth, dirk.”

“real smooth,” rose agrees.

“i could teach you,” dave blurts out, biting his lip, uncertain. neither of them have ever been certain. it’s as if all of the certainty their parents had in them to give was amassed in their brother when he was born, and all that was left for them was  pretending they were once like him.

“what?”

“i could teach you,” he repeats, slowly. “to strife, i mean. i’m probably fucking rusty since hell would freeze over in a christmas themed nightmare before i found a decent enough sparring partner in his godforsaken hellhole of a suburb, and you will probably never be as fucking rad as bro taught me to be but if you’re willing to sit through the buddha worthy lessons i’m about to lay and if you call me sensei, i could maybe possibly like literally—”

“okay,” says rose. dave’s mumbling fades out.

“okay?” he asks, like he wasn’t expecting it at all.

“yes, okay, i’d like that.” says rose, pushing herself up, sliding down the bed to sit next to dave on the floor. their knees knock together.

“alrighty then,” dave breathes, not knowing what to do with himself now he’s faced with all of this willingness. “let me just. yeah.”

rose watches the movement of his shoulders as he pulls a wooden katana from under his bed, sheathed and dusty, nicked with disuse and too old scars from when he had a use for it. it’s cold and heavy in his grasp, and he realizes with a wave of relief that it still feels like an extension of himself, that he missed this. the certainty.

he offers a hand to his sister and pulls her to her feet, pressing his chest to her back. he radiates heat off in waves, hot and suffocating when he puts his arms around rose’s body to whispers in her ear, “like this.”

his fingers, rough and boyish push hers until she’s in the right position, “lesson one,” he says, lowering their arms until the hilt is positioned near their stomach, the blunt tip angled outwards, a defensive stance. “don’t let anyone know you have no idea what you’re doing.”

rose nods and breathes and closes her eyes to feel the heaviness of the sword in  her hands, the weight behind her brother’s skin, the warmth , the certainty— and she thinks that this isn’t what she planned.

this isn’t what she planned at all.

;;

 “let’s go out,” says dave.

“but we’re already out,” jade points out,  tilting her head to the side a little.

“no, dumbass,” replies dave, shoving his hands inside his pockets. he feels heat rising to his cheeks and he pretends not to know what it means. “not right now. later tonight. there’s a new record store downtown that i’ve been wanting to check out forever and if you’re quiet and behave like a good puppy and don’t literally like seriously freak out over the new jonas brothers super exclusive edition album or i don’t even know what you kids like these days except stepping on my lawn then you can come with me and i’ll even hold your hand and shit but you have to pay for your own ice-cream because i ain’t no southern gentleman, alright?” he breathes in, looking away. “i mean. if you want to.”

“alright,” says jade. “just don’t make a scene like the last time.”

“that fucking kid kept touching me.”

“dave.”

“fuck you,” dave says, and it rolls off his tongue easily. “i don’t make scenes. i’m chill. i’m as smooth as baby’s butt.”

jade laughs and kisses his cheek. “it’s a date.”

something in his chest is beat-beat-beating, and dave calls himself an idiot all the way home.

there’s a family gathering thing john and jade have been hearing about for months now.

they travel to a relative’s house in the country side and the day is rainy and windy but not gloomy when it finally takes place; the house is old and big and it smells like old books and wood and antique wallpaper and john kind of likes it, especially when they’re finally allowed to wander around by themselves.

they walk through the corridors opening every door they can open, looking out of windows, into closets and drawers and cupboards, finding nothing more interesting than the occasional old wardrobe full of yellowish dresses and photo albums. there’s pictures of jade’s grandpa when he was younger, holding a rifle in his hands and a lion skin over his shoulders; their grandmother in a swimsuit, picking flowers from her garden, leaning against a white picket fence.

they look happy and in love, and it makes something inside john’s chest ache.

“how do i look?” jade asks, after taking off her shorts and hand-knit sweater patterned with little scottish dogs, slipping into an old lace dress, tight-waisted and yellowish from the passing of time.

“beautiful, ma’am,” john laughs, pulling on an old blazer. he raises an imaginary hat, offering his hand to her and jade takes it, overly daintily, and john likes the way her hair is getting in her face and how she’s barefoot. “may i have this dance, miss harley?”

“why, but of course, mister egbert,” she giggles, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “but only because you asked so nicely.”

they don’t actually have the right music to play, so they dance clumsily to john’s ipod, 90s rock bands and indie songs that he only knows because dave put them in there in the first place. he twirls jade around and laughs at the way she trips on her own feet, gets a half-hearted fist to his shoulder in return, a gentleman would never make fun of a lady, didn’t you know?

he puts his arms around her and they dance to aerosmith as slowly as they can, until , and jade looks up at him with two dimples and mischief in her eyes, so different from pale skin and glass limbs and fairytale hair.

that’s when he knows that he’s in trouble.

;;

john calls rose on the phone.

“hey,” he says, laying in his bed with his head hanging from the edge of his mattress. he feels the blood going to his head but can’t bring himself to care enough. “i miss you.”

he doesn’t’ realize he’s talking on autopilot. he’s fifteen years old and he’s apathetic most of the time and he’s trying to each chips upside down, staring at some 90s cartoon on the telly. _i miss you_ , feels like the right thing to say even though he’s not too sure if he means it. he doesn’t want to think about it, because he’s fifteen and thinking too hard about his feeling makes him want to punch something.

“i miss you too,” says rose through the phone, and john is as good at introspection as he is at perspicacity, so he doesn’t pays much attention to her tone of voice. he watches a talking starfish make a bonfire underwater, defying the laws of physics. “come see me tonight.”

that catches his attention.

“okay,” he says, holding the phone closer.

“i’ll be waiting.”

rose hangs up.

;;

the light to rose’s room is dim but noticeable, her window is unlocked. john’s been sneaking into rose’s house for years now, knocking on her window, leaving his shoes under her bed, making-out under the covers with guilty hands and strangled noises. he’s got the climb to the second floor down to an art form.

john slides the window open and dave says, “what,” as in the hell.

john’s been sneaking into rose’s room for years now and not once has dave been in her room. he never expects dave to be in her room. john isn’t even sure dave is allowed in her room in the first place.

they’re sitting in her bed all too close for john’s liking, looking bedraggled and dishevelled — rose is wearing one of john’s shirts and little else and her hair is in her face, dave’s hands are twitching, his nose scrunching up like it does when he’s anxious.

“i’m sorry,” rose says, sounding like she isn’t one bit sorry. she bites back a guilty smile and hurries next to him, licking her lips as she runs a hand through her hair. “i’m sorry,” she repeats, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear, pushing on john’s shoulders to get him out of the room.

“but you said—”

“i know what i said,” rose whispers as he climbs back, leaning in to speak quietly. “i’m truly sorry i made you come all the way here, but you can’t stay tonight.”

she brushes her lips to his, and out in the cold night, it tastes sweeter than john thought it would. he wishes he could stay and kiss her some more, feel her squirming under him as he sucks on her skin and makes marks under her collarbone that her dress will barely cover.

she pulls back and he follows her, catching her lips once more in a longer kiss with a low noise in his throat, and rose sighs into his mouth. behind them, dave clears his throat.

“i’ll see you tomorrow,” rose say, wiping the side of her mouth with the back of her fingers. her make-up is a mess, like it sometimes looks when john’s kissed her for too long, nibbled and sucked at her lips until she’s pulling at his hair and pressing her hips into his, breathing heavily. he doesn’t think their kiss was nearly enough to make her make-up look like that.

“good-night,” he says, licking his lips. he tastes like lipstick and something else.

rose closes the window and draws the curtains.

;;

“you did that on purpose,” dave wants to say, to accuse and incriminate and point his finger. “you did that on purpose, you massive manipulative bitch,” but it dies in his throat, comes out as a noise like he’s dying with his sister’s tongue in his mouth and his hands inside her shirt, and he doesn’t push her away, not once.

;;

“those silly boys,” rose laughs, sitting with jade in the middle of a mess of junk food and nail polish. she runs her fingers through her hair in her room, twisting and untwisting it in tiny braids. “with their preponderance and their airs of grandeur, they think they know what we want.”

“and what would that be,” asks jade, biting her lip. it tastes like lipgloss and strawberries, feels heavy and wet. she’s never used lipstick before in her life except when her mouth got too chapped in winter. the finer points of smearing grease on your mouth for the sake of aesthetics elude her.

“my dear,” rose says, tiny grin dangling off the edge of her lips, meeting jade’s eyes through the mirror. “just one. terrible. thing.”

rose sits on her dressing table tipping a bottle of polish remover in the process, and swings her legs like she’s twelve, fixing each of jade’s curls in their respective place before jade snorts and slaps rose’s hands away.

“in all honesty,” says rose, shrugging. “they’re fun to kiss and fool around with and let them take you to dinner places, but…”

“but what?” asks jade, looking for rose’s eyes.

“but they could never replace a true friend.”

rose slides her fingertips across jade’s cheek, softly, until the touch vanishes like it wasn’t even there in the first place.

;;

rose moves to france that year.

it’s a school thing. rose moves for a whole summer and in return they get to hang out with some disgruntled kid who can barely pronounce his r’s and complains about the food all of the time.

jade asks, “where is dave?”

“i’m sure he will be here any second,” john replies, his voice the voice of someone who is thoroughly uncertain.

“oh, he won’t be coming,” rose says, dismissively. “we already said our farewells back at home.”

there’s a heavy implication in rose’s voice, and it makes jade blink a few times. john, though, is not one to overthink tones and influxes, and he quickly forgets the coyness in her comment when she stands on her tip-toes to kiss him when her mom isn’t looking, because they’re fifteen and he’s growing like crazy.

a gentle female voice announces rose’s flight will be leaving any moment now, and jade stands by their side pretending to find the airline flight schedules oddly fascinating, until they part ways and rose stands in her tiptoes once again to pull jade in too, leaving a glossy black stain on the corner of her mouth before any of the three is all too sure of what is happening.

“i’ll miss you both,” rose calls as she hurries towards the departure lounge. “take care of my brother for me, would you?”

“we will,” says john, waving absentmindedly.

“don’t do anything i wouldn’t do,” rose says before she’s out of sigh, and john can almost swear her little grin is even worse than the way she says farewells.

“bye,” says jade, touching the place where rose’s lips pressed against hers, and feels terribly guilty.

;;

eb: dave, where are you? dude, rose’s leaving in literally like seriously five minutes don’t be an asshole and come say goodbye.

eb: you did it. you were an asshole. whatever.

eb: stop being so emo and come to movie friday, it’s your turn to choose.

eb: jade and i are going to the park today to see if we can push some kids off the swings and steal from barbeques, wanna come?

eb: dave? are you alright? are you sick? call me back, you butt.

eb: give us a sign that you’re alive so jade and i don’t call 911. jade’s literally saying right now that she’s gonna track you down and gouge your eyes out with a spoon for worrying her.

eb: dude.

eb: i hate you so much.

eb:…dave, we miss you.

eb come back.

(you have 1 new message.)

;;

john and jade get drunk because they’re fifteen and stupid.

dave’s nowhere to be found and this is the first summer the four of them have not been together. without dave and rose, they feel like something’s missing and the ache only threatens to dig deeper in their hearts each day that passes by without news from any of the two.

they laugh and sing along the radio for hours because jade’s grandpa is not home and he’s got a stash of scotch big enough to make them giddy for hours, and somewhere between truth or dare and _please, please, please let me get what i want_ , jade presses her lips to john’s, guiltily, because she’s fifteen and stupid and they’re lonely.

“if i kiss you back,” john says, a huge grin on his face. “promise you won’t strangle me with my own guts me like you swore you would?”

jade laughs out loud and pulls him in by the back of his neck.

;;

“call me crazy, john says,  with his head on jade’s lap, her fingers running through his hair and tangling it in strange, comforting patterns. it’s a rainy day, and the rain tap-tap-taps against jade’s window and the sound is too soothing to ignore. they’re almost falling asleep. “but i don’t think rose likes me anymore.”

“you’re crazy,” jade mumbles, and her voice is small.

;;

the first day of junior year, dave pushes john into the nearest locker. his back collides against the cold red metal with a dull clang, the back of his shoulder digging painfully into the padlock.

“how dare you,” dave spits at him, angry and seething. “how _fucking_ dare you.”

“what,” says john, voice hoarse, the air just knocked out of him. “the hell are you talking about?”

the bell rings. students begin to hoard the hallway, desperately trying to make the most of the five minutes in between classes, trying not to get caught texting with their phones hidden in their pockets, digging desperately through their lockers, scribbling frantically as they prop a notebook up against the nearest wall.

dave takes john wrist in a death grip and drags him through the sea of students to push him inside a janitor closet.

he takes fistfuls of johns shirt and presses close, and the closet is small. john’s shoulder blades are digging into something soft and dusty, a crack of light from the door is the only illumination.

“don’t fucking think i don’t see the way you look at her,” dave spits, his breath hot and raging against john’s mouth. “it’s disgusting.”

“wha— who—”

“jade! jade, you bastard, jade your fucking cousin, jade fucking harley,” dave’s voice breaks, and he pushes john harder, a desperate attempt to keep himself from breaking.

john feels the anger rising inside of him like he’s reached his boiling point, making his face burn and his hands curl into angry fists. “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says , guilt seeping into his voice without meaning to. “i have a girlfriend.”

“you have so many reasons to be ashamed.”

and it’s that statement that breaks john, the last drop that finally, finally spills the glass after years of doubt and denying and assumptions, of coming up with theories that made sense at night but made him feel crazy when he tried to bring them up.

“and you don’t?” he snaps back, breathing harshly. “you’re the hugest hypocrite, dave, it’s you, i know you and rose fuck and she’s your sister, i’ve known for years—”

“this ain’t about me and—”

“oh hell yes this is about you—”

“—it’s not like that—”

“then what is it like?”

“i love her,” dave breathes, desperately, with all the honesty of the world. “she’s my sister and i love her even if she’s your girlfriend and you can’t take that away from me. from us. you just can’t.”

“that’s fucked up in so many ways…”

dave lets out a cold, little laugh. “and you’re not?”

“she’s my girlfriend,” john whispers.  “and you’re my best friend, how could you ever do this to m—”

“don’t you fucking dare,” dave cuts him off, “don’t you fucking dare, i did nothing to you, don’t try to make yourself the victim—”

“i’m not—”

“you have everything,” dave says, his voice almost breaking. “you’re bright and everyone likes you, you’re the hero, you’re the good guy, you’re the star, it’s you—  you have my sister, you have,” he breathes, “you have me, why are you so fucking selfish? why can’t you just give up jade, just once, just this one time, for me—”

 “she’s not your girlfriend anymore,” john whispers, watching the only boy he thinks he’s ever loved crumble apart before his eyes.

“she liked me first!” dave retorts, stomping his feet on the floor, angrily, a child throwing a tantrum. “she liked me first, she liked me before she liked you, she’s mine, you huge selfish bastard. she’s mine, she’s my best friend, she’s mine, she’s mine, mine, mine—”

“you’re mine.”

dave sobs, burring his head in john’s neck, his knuckles white from grabbing at john’s shoulders. “it’s not fair,” he says, biting john’s neck. john’s flinches at the feeling of a tongue against his skin, the unmistakable feeling of a mark blooming. his hands look for dave’s face in the darkness, pulling him as close as they can be. “you have everything, it’s not fair.”

“i’m sorry,” john mumbles between chapped, boyish kisses, feeling dave’s hands grab fistfuls of his hair. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry.”

;;

in the girl’s restroom, jade asks, “what ever happened to you,” trying to clean the scratches in dave’s face with toilet paper.

he’s sitting in one of the toilets with the lid down and the door of the restroom locked, trying not to flinch when he moves and his clothes brush against the bruises with the shape of john’s fingers left on his sides. his lips are red and swollen from kissing, but jade doesn’t ask about that.

“i was defending your honour.”

jade doesn’t answer.

;;

the next time john sees jade it’s at a funeral.

one of their long lost relatives passes away, and they stand a respectful distance away from the mourners to mumble to each other. the days are getting colder and windier and it feels like something is going to break, and john thinks it feels appropriate.

he asks, “do you like dave?” and jade doesn’t seem startled at the question, like maybe she expected it.

“he’s my friend.” she replies, voice small

 “but do you like him?”

“i don’t know,” jade sighs, shaking her head. “does he like me?”

john asks because he doesn’t want to get in the way. he’s not everything dave said he is. he thinks jade is beautiful and bright and wonderful, and all he wants is for her to be happy.

john is not selfish. john loves his friends.

maybe a little too much for his own good.

“i think he likes way too many people for his own good,” he says, with a certain air of bitterness. he’s not sure why he said that in the first place, but he refuses to accept that it makes him feel like a hypocrite.

jade turns her head, looking at him. “maybe he can’t help it. maybe he doesn’t want to, but he can’t help it.”

john flinches.

“i’m pretty sure he fucked my girlfriend at some point,” he says, frowning. “why are you defending him?”

“because he’s my friend. and i thought he was yours, and you’re not above him like i know you think you are.”

john knows jade is right. jade’s always been good at telling the truth, at digging dirty secrets from below graves where john would like them to stay forever. he wants her to stop, because it makes his chest ache, and he’s never been good at knowing how to soothe aches without transferring the pain to someone else’s chest.

“he kissed me,” he says, because this isn’t a pretty tale, and he’s not about to learn today.

“what?”

“he said he liked you, but he kissed me.”

“oh,” says jade, looking at her shoes. someone is sobbing in the distance, murmuring things they can’t quite make out. “good thing i don’t like him, then.”

her grandpa calls her so she leaves.

;;

when they were thirteen rose told john she had accepted to be his girlfriend so no one else would. she said she was selfish. 

john realizes he is selfish, too.

;;

dave locks himself in his sister’s room one afternoon, let’s the sunrays slip through her silky curtains like she would have liked if she were here. he’s never been good at sorting himself out when family leaves, there are always too many loose ties, too many feelings burning inside his skin without a proper name or a proper outlet.

his phone is bubbling with unread messages and a sea of texts, ‘i’m sorry’s and  ‘i miss you’s and ‘I hate you’s and ‘please don’t clam up on us again.’

and it’s not like he doesn’t want to answer, the need to reach out for any sort of comfort burns him from the inside out, to be soothed and be touched by someone, anyone, pale or tall or safe. dave’s always been bad at not needing the attention.

in some wretched way he wants to find out for how long they’ll keep trying to reach for him, for how long they will remember that he’s alive and they need him to be complete until things fall into normalcy and then they don’t.

maybe john’s right. maybe he is fucked up.

he buries his face in roses pillow, soft with old laundry detergent , and breathes in lavender and sea-salt.

;;

hours blend into days blend into weeks blend into months and then rose comes back.

;;

“my god, you’re so tall,” rose ushers them in with a small, delicate smile. she’s wearing a white cotton dress and smells like spring, or maybe it’s the freshly cut grass of her house’s lawn. it’s seven and their parents are out on a dinner of some kind, the night has barely fallen. “last time i saw you you were but this small.”

she puts her hand low as if to indicate a tiny distance from the floor, and lets out a little laugh so they know she’s not serious.

dave is already sprawled in the sofa like he couldn’t give a fuck if he tried, but his hair is wet and his shirt is carefully untucked, he dressed up for the occasion. their movie nights are never formal in any way, but her parents insisted on some sort of welcoming party, and there are balloons attached to the walls, an ice-cream cake in the fridge that they will probably eat before dinner. john and jade brought gifts, and rose kisses them both on the cheek before going upstairs to leave them in her bedroom.

they watch movies and order pizza and let rose talk about her trip like she didn’t feel absolutely lonely, and the air is heavy that night, the jokes a little stiff. the only light is coming from the tv screen and it’s flashing blue, black, blue over the room and dave’s running commentary on whatever housewife channel they’re watching for the hell of it feels more like background noise meant to relax them rather than convey any meaningful idea.

something feels disjointed but none of them dares to point it out, too scared that mentioning it will make it all the more real. maybe they won’t know how to fix it.

rose fidgets with her fingers subtly buried in the skirt of her dress and doesn’t watched the tv at all, her eyes wandering from jade on the floor to john next to her to dave bringing popcorn from the kitchen, trying to figure out what is missing.

she wonders if maybe she fucked up.

but here’s the thing about rose: she never fucks up because her plans are perfect.

(right?)

the movie ends and they’re left with nothing to do but talk, and it feels like paranoia.

;;

“kiss me,” rose aks with a smile, a glass bottle of coca-cola near her feet on the living-room’s floor, pointing to john.

“oh,” he says, feeling the heat rise to his face. “um. yeah.”

“are we seriously gonna play spin the bottle now,” dave mumbles, watching john lean into rose, pressing his lips to her chin first, then her mouth, even though he knows he would rather look away. he can’t. it’s oddly fascinating, the way nuclear explosions are fascinating when they make you feel sick in the stomach. “how old are we, twelve? is this a 90s coming of age movie?”

rose laughs against john’s mouth. “shut up and spin the bottle, dave.”

“whatever.”

he does.

 it lands on rose.

their eyes meet for a moment and rose pushes herself out of john’s lap. neither of them make an actual attempt to proceed or laugh it off, the simply stare at each other with the same unreadable expression, waiting for the other to make the first move. it’s always been a battle of will, between the two of them.

john squirms and feels terribly out of place, all of a sudden. “ha, so funny, guys. just like in kinder garder, right. kiss your sister and hope she won’t hurt you.”

“yeah, just like kindergarden,” dave mumbles, closing his hands into fists. “kiss rose or you’re a chicken.”

rose raises an eyebrow and moves her gaze from one to the other, feeling strangely lost. she lets out a little laugh. “john was always so charming.”

“if by charming you meant a little shit.”

“i might be a shit but you’ll always be a chicken.”

“john,” jade warns, squeezing her hands in her lap. she’s sitting on the couch away from the rest of them, her legs tucked neatly under her, a plate of barely touched cake in her lap.

“jade,” john replies, not bothering to turn to look at her. his gaze is locked with dave’s and there’s a heat behind his every word, like he’s vibrating from the inside out with the urge to look for a fight.

dave says, his jaw tight, “i’m not.”

“maybe you are.”

“shut up.”

“too scared to fight, too scared to tell the truth.” john continues, “but it’s not like you don’t go around kissing everyone anyway, right.”

rose blinks, gently putting her hands on dave’s shoulder, leaning in close. she feels like she is desperately trying to regain control of the situation, and she doesn’t know where this is going but she knows she won’t like it, she won’t like it at all, and for once she feels small, she doesn’t know what she did wrong and it scares her. “did your virginal lips graced someone while i wasn’t here to approve of it, brother?”

dave shakes her off. “rose, not now.”

“blasphemy, sacrilege,” she continues, anyway, if only a little intimidated.  “i must fix this immediately.”

that catches their attention.

john is the first one to react. he crosses his arms and there is a challenge in his eyes when he says, “the lady asked for a kiss, dave.”

“if that’s what she wants,” dave refuses to break his gaze. “then let her have it.”

“finally growing a spine, i see.”

rose puts  her hands around her brother’s face and turns his head towards her, not being able to tell anymore if his eyes are on her or not. she leans in to kiss him, and thinks, this is what i wanted, right. boys fighting for her left and right, the chance to kiss whoever she wants whenever she wants, no consequences. victory doesn’t taste like she thought it would.

john pulls dave away from rose by the neck of his shirt. “what the actual hell.”

dave grins at him, cleaning up his mouth with the back of his hand. “don’t tell me you’re _jealous_.”

 “boys,” rose warns, knowing better than to come any closer.

dave spits, “shut up, rose.” and she’s startled.

“rude.”

“you just kissed my girlfriend right in front of me!”

“dude, you asked for it.”

john looks down for a second, something inside him faltering. he says, “i didn’t think you’d do it.” and it feels like a realization.

“you still think i’m a chicken, don’t you,” dave continues, taking a step closer to john. “still think you’re above everyone.”

john looks away, grinning wryly. “well, maybe i am.”

“maybe you’re full of shit, egbert.”

“boys,” rose warns a second time, and there is a certain air of desperation in her voice.

“i hate you so much,” john growls, his eyebrows furrowing.

“well fucking then,” dave says. “do something about it.”

And john does.

he lunges himself towards dave, making them both fall to the couch, nearly avoiding crushing jade and john punches him in the jaw, dave knees him back, john hits him again and dave makes a sound like the air has been knocked out of him.

jade stands up, startled. the plate in her lap clatters to the floor and the sound is loud in the room, cold and infinitely saddening.

she looks from the boys to rose with a horrified expression on her face, and turns around, running out of the door.

and rose thinks, _fuck_.

“fuck,” she says, standing up. john and dave are still tangled on the couch, grabbing at each other’s clothes and buzzing with anger fuelled by misunderstandings too old to clear up now. “fuck, fuck, fuck, i’m so fucking stupid.”

rose runs behind jade and forgets to put her shoes on.

;;

she hasn’t gone too far, her tall, slender frame trying to get up from where she tripped on a garden hose in the neighbour’s lawn. she jumps when she hears the sound of bare feet against damp grass behind her, turning to see rose rushing towards her, takes a step back because jade is sixteen and her three best friends in the whole world hate each other and she feels like her world is crumbling apart.

“jade,” rose says, panting. “i’m sorry—”

jade sobs.

“no, no, no,” she mumbles over and over, rubbing her face with the sleeves of her sweater. “no, rosie don’t be sorry, i’m the one who should be sorry.”

“but—”

“i like you _so_ much,” jade cries, flinching away when rose tries to reach for her. “but i don’t stand a chance because they boys have been fighting for you forever and i don’t even deserve to call me your friend because i couldn’t be happy with just that, i’m too selfish, rose, i kissed john when i shouldn’t because he’s your boyfriend and i’m his cousin and he’s yours before mine and i couldn’t keep the boys from fighting when you weren’t here and i couldn’t keep us together and i fucked up majorly and i put the gum in your hair when we were seven and i’m _sorry_ ,” she sobs, falling to her knees, tears blurring her vision. “i’m the one who should be sorry, i’m sorry, i’m a terrible friend and i can’t make anyone happy and i’m terrible and i’m sorry i’m terrible, i’m sorry, i’m sorry…”

rose kneels and wraps her arms around jade, her white cotton dress staining green, her knees scrapping against the damp, wet grass

;;

not two moment later two more bodies crash against them, two more pairs of strong warm arms around their bodies, and the weight makes the four of them fall into the grass in a pile of skin, and comfort, and uncertainty, and regret.

rose looks at the night sky with jade’s face buried against her neck and her body as a blanket, dave’s shoulder as a pillow, john’s breath hitting her temple, feels the gentle traces of sobs against her body, and she realizes that she’s sixteen and sometimes her plans aren’t perfect.

;;

“dave?”

john traces the bruise forming on his jaw in the darkness, and dave shudders. “yeah?”

“i’m sorry.” john whispers against the corner of his mouth, and dave can feel his brows furrowing against the side of his head, feel the sadness.  he closes his eyes and goes with the flow.

(but it’s not that easy.)

he says, “don’t be.”

john presses a kiss to his mouth and murmurs another apology.

;;

eventually, they move for the sake of lying on a place that is slightly more comfortable at 11 p.m. than rose and dave’s neighbour’s lawn. they make it to the living room.

for once, they’re silent, and the silence is not suffocating on their skin. instead, it’s comforting like a blanket, not too hot and not too cold, wraps them in clouds. rose makes hot chocolate and washes jade’s hands in the sink, puts a band-aid on the place where she scrapped her skin when she fell. her hair is tousled and there is dirt on her face and grass on her dress, and rose curls her bare toes againt the floorboard and feels soil beneath them.

She braids jade’s hair as she sips on the mug she always uses when she comes over, and her face is red, shaking now and then with lingering sobs. she’s never looked more beautiful.

when they come back, dave and john are tangled in the couch, in that comfortable state between being awake and asleep. from the corner of her eyes rose catches john’s fingers gently tracing the place between dave’s shirt and jean, sees them kissing when they think nobody’s looking, and something inside her chest aches.

rose touches their hair and john sleep mumbles an apology against dave’s forehead, his face buried in john’s neck. john presses a kiss to her knuckles and asks, as quietly as he can, “are we still friends?”

rose bends down to kiss his forehead.

(she’ll learn to live with it.)

she curls up with jade on the floor and  jade’s head on her shoulder, and they watch midnight cartoons until their parents come back.

;;

they stay the night under the guise of a sleepover.

rose’s bed is not nearly big enough to accommodate the four of them, so they lie curled together on the floor instead, in a nestle of sleeping bags, of blankets and pillows.

“i never actually fucked rose,” dave whispers in the darkness, too awake after his nap on the couch to fall asleep now. after a moment of silence, he adds, slightly embarrassed, “if you were wondering.”

jade grins from her place being the big spoon behind john, then giggles, her laughter infectious, until john joins her, shaking with badly supressed cackles.

“what,” dave deadpans, feeling his face grow hotter. “what’s so funny.”

rose says, “shut the hell up,” with her mouth against his mouth.

dave shuts the hell up.

;;

there’s still a week of summer before senior year, and they make the most of it.

it’s too late to make trips now, but everyone in the suburbs is out of the town, and the streets are empty enough to ride around in bicycles, racing through deserted streets until they feel like they can fly, stuffing themselves with ice-cream at the convenience store, sneaking into their neighbour’s laws playing hide and seek.

jade hides fully clothed into a pool clogged with fallen leaves, and john laughs silently when he sees her, crawls out of his place behind a tree. the owners of the house won’t be here until winter, and the water is sun-warmed and sticky on his skin when he slides as silently as he can so dave and rose won’t find them.

rose does, however, and she sheds her clothes off before jumping in, pulling at jade’s leg until they’re both underwater.

dave finally finds them with jade’s legs around rose’s waist and her back to john’s chest. he says, “fuck you, guys,” taking off his shirt as fast as he can.

it’s summer and they’re sixteen and they’re in love.

they feel like they’re invincible.

;;

 “maybe one day we’ll get this right,” dave whispers, his heart beating loud enough for them to tell if his voice is wavering with uncertainty.

;;

And there are no happy endings, because nothing ends.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to end sadly but i couldnt do it because im lame
> 
> [(tumblr mirror](http://flowercrownprincess.tumblr.com/post/54973775035/and-love-will-not-break-your-heart))
> 
> APRIL 2016 EDIT: it's been three year-ish since i wrote this and if you made it to this point you're obligated to read about me shittalking this fic [here](http://officialdaverose.tumblr.com/post/142531980572/reverse-and-love-will-not-break-ur-heart) because if there's any critique you're thinking of making i probably already made it before
> 
> also if you think rose is a bitch consider dave and john were just as mean but they're getting off the hook for being boyz


End file.
